Shades of Gray
by Ethir Anduin
Summary: Elessar leaves Gondor after a violent dream and returns with a bag of memories.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

*****

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"How come I'm old enough to go camping but not to go hunting?" six-year-old Aragorn, known better in those days as Estel, wants to know. He looks, imploring, to his foster-brother. "How come I can't do what you and Elladan do?"

Elrohir smiles at the boy. "Hunting is no fun, Estel, but Elladan and I will take you camping because that is_ fun. Besides, there are serious dangers involved in hunting." He does not add the word "orcs," but he thinks it._

Estel boasts, "I'm going to be the greatest warrior when I'm big. Then you and Elladan will have nothing to be scared of!"

"I believe it," Elrohir answers. "Now come, let me help you pack."

Elladan and Elrohir have slaughtered orcs on two trips in the past six months. Feeling terribly abandoned, Estel pines for them when ever they are gone. Remembering a wooden fort the twins built in their youth, they petitioned their father, who granted them permission to take Estel for one night to the fort. It was not two hours' walk away for the twins, longer for Estel but they would carry him some.

"You really built a house?" Estel asks, trotting to keep up with his brothers.

"Well, not exactly," Elladan replies. "Wait and see!"

The child manages, but just barely. Racing ahead of his brothers, his stocky legs a blur, Estel reaches the fort first. He finds it without trouble, concealed as it is from years of overgrowth. He jumps up and down impatiently as Elladan and Elrohir clear the entrance.

Fifteen years ago, the twins took a trip out to their old fort, just to remember. They tell Estel of that trip later, as the boys huddle around their stone-ringed campfire. "The roof had collapsed, and pounds of debris collected. Rain helped mold grow over the walls."

Estel looks up at the roof, slats of wood through which the stars shine cheerfully. On such a clear night, Elladan and Elrohir took the usual rain-protection, a sheet of oilcloth, off. The floor is better made than the roof, boards packed tightly within a wooden ring. Latticework walls keep wild things at bay--not that wild things are too much of a threat in Imladris.

Because he trusts his brothers with all of his heart, Estel asks them, "Who is my real ada? Where is he now?"

Elladan and Elrohir glance at each other. "Estel, come here," Elladan says, and draws his brother onto his lap, holding the little boy protectively. "Do you remember Snowdrop?" He names the cat who died a few months ago.

"Snowdrop's gone away," he mutters. "She can't come back and play any more."

"That's right, darling. You ada is there, too, with Snowdrop."

"Ada…" Estel remembers the stiff, lifeless cat. He tried to play with her. When Snowdrop would not wake, Estel took her to Ada, and they burned her. Estel was not supposed to watch. Ada told him to go to bed. But Estel wanted to play with Snowdrop. No one knows what he saw. "Ada!"

Estel struggles from Elladan's grasp and bolts out of the fort before the twins can stop him. "Estel, wait!"

Before the twins reach him, Estel stops short, hearing a low growl. He looks around, but can see nothing in the darkness. Then a cloud shifts to reveal the moon, and by her light Estel sees a feral dog. His heart pounds with fear and he steps back. "Elladan! Elrohir!" he screams. The dog lunges, rakes its claws across Estel's chest.

Suddenly fires of pain explode over Estel's skin, flames spreading to consume his entire body and he is burning, there is fire all over him--

With a cry, Elessar woke from his dream. His hand clutched his chest, where the scars from the dog had yet to fade, but the blood spilling over his skin came from his own nails puncturing flesh. His breath came in short gasps. The flames had been so real…

"Estel? Are you all right?"

Conquering his unstable breath, Elessar said quickly, "Arwen, don't--" but too late. She lit the lamp beside their bed and after taking one look at her husband she gasped.

"Estel, what's wrong? What dreams leave you so pale and bloodied?" She knew of nightmares, having herself awoken to blood before. Gentle but commanding fingers felt Elessar's forehead. A sound of tearing fabric, then Arwen held a strip of cloth to the shallow wounds. "Tell me, Estel," she urged him gently.

"Arwen," Elessar said, gulping air as though deprived of this liberty. Suddenly he rose and pulled a tunic over his head, not caring that he had discarded that same tunic the night before--a rose glow betrayed the early morning hour. "I must write to Faramir," he said. "There is something I must do, something outside of Gondor. Explain to Eldarion--"

"Take him with you," Arwen interrupted.

Elessar looked to her, remembering with a start who he spoke to.

"Please take him, Estel. You know how much it will mean. He loves you so, and yet feels you treat him as a child. Have you not seen the wistful wanderlust in his eyes? Allow him accompany you on this errand."

"I cannot," Elessar answered. "I will make it up to Eldarion. There is something I must retrieve with all haste."

Worried for his safety, Arwen implored, "Then go with Legolas, only do not go alone. I fear for you in this state."

Seeing the strain his state put her under, Elessar agreed.

**Approximately Three Months Later**

Eldarion, Prince of Gondor, son of one of the greatest heroes of the War of the Ring, one day to be King, sigh and looked out the window behind Faramir. His mind wandered off to distant lands, to Beleriand and the Valinor, places he would never see, but more than anything his mind wandered after his father. 'Where are you?' he thought. 'Why did you leave me?' Again and again Eldarion begged to be taken out of Gondor, taken any place outside of Minas Tirith besides Ithilien, yet his father always denied him. At thirteen years, Eldarion considered himself the most sheltered boy in history.

"Eldarion?"

He blinked and lost his dreams. Faramir smiled gently. "That composition won't write itself."

Knowing he was doing the wrong thing and not caring, Eldarion shot Faramir a look of pure malice. Much to the younger man's chagrin, Faramir's temper held. "I know the feeling," said the prince of Ithilien.

"Don't either," Eldarion shot back.

Faramir reminded Eldarion, "Your father promised to return within the next two days--"

Angry at the mention of his father and the implied mention of the anniversary of his birth, a day he dreaded facing as the mental runt he considered himself, Eldarion leapt to his feet. "It doesn't matter! He never keeps his promises anyway!"

Turning, he fled the room before his tears could form. Faramir rose to follow him, but Arwen, appearing quite of the sudden, stayed him. "Eldarion cannot control this anger, let him sweat it out," she muttered. "You have been very good to him these past months, Faramir. Thank you." The two called each other by their first names, having developed something of a friendship after the War.

"Arwen, may I ask if you know where and why the king has gone?" Faramir asked. "With Gondor in a state of practically unthreatened peace politics remain unaffected, but such things are ephemeral conditions."

"I know nothing more than you," Arwen replied. "Here, let's see to this…"

Not a half-hour later, when Arwen and Faramir together had struggled through a small mountain of paperwork concerning funding petitions from a small guild of alchemists--"When they turn lead to gold, that is when I will fund them," Faramir stated his opinion--Eldarion appeared in the doorway. At his side stood a weather-beaten Elessar. "Go on," he said, nudging his son.

Eldarion, grudging with every word he forced from his lips, apologized. "I am sorry for being short with you earlier."

"Your apology is accepted," Faramir answered. Turning to Elessar, he stood, bowed, and said absolutely nothing, but bit his tongue on a thousand questions and looked expectantly to the king.

*

That evening, Eldarion glowered at his father. "You were told to stay here," Elessar reminded him. It was true: for his rudeness to Faramir and for a rather embarrassing scene having taken place upon Elessar's arrival, Faramir had been confined to his room for the night. Nevertheless he sneaked out to eavesdrop on his parents' conversation earlier.

'Which coming from you is rather ironic,' Eldarion thought, but he said nothing.

Elessar sighed. This was not what he wanted to say to his son. Why did he feel so awkward? Eldarion remained the same, and Elessar…he did not think he had changed. Had he?

"I only--" Eldarion began, then shut his mouth. He knew better than to argue. But Elessar motioned for him to continue, and so Eldarion said, "I wanted to know where you had gone. Father, I am no longer a child. Tell me what you found in Imladris. Tell me why you ran away!"

Eldarion bit his lip and lowered his eyes. There he had gone and said too much. Elessar frowned. "I am sorry you think I ran away, Eldarion."

"Then what did you do?" Eldarion challenged.

"I was raised in Imladris." This announcement silenced Eldarion. He often badgered his father for any story of Elessar's childhood and listened constantly for any careless hint, but for all his efforts learned precious little. His mother withheld few details of her past to compensate, but even she knew that a boy's mother could not replace the absence of his father. Elessar gathered up the bag he earlier had set upon the floor. "In this bag I stored my memories." With swift, sure movements betraying none of his uncertainty Elessar drew open the bag and tipped it, letting its contents spill out. He tried not to show that for many years this bag had been closed, his past sealed safely away.

Eldarion could only stare. So many things, seemingly insignificant, and each a small part of his father! How could he possibly form a question with such numerous half-secrets untold before his eyes?

"You choose, Eldarion."

He did.

*****

To be continued


	2. Concerning a Rusty Horseshoe

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

**Third Age, Imladris**

Estel cupped his hands and submerged the vessel formed by his fingers and palms. Water flowed swiftly into the hollow. Estel moved carefully, his tongue caught between his lips, not spilling a single drop as his hands hovered, passing over a sea of clear water. Pausing over an island of pure white beach (or, perhaps slightly pink), Estel tipped his fingers forward. The boy giggled as cool water rushed over his heel, rinsing away soapy suds.

Curiously, he examined his foot. Estel had never given much thought to his feet before, save that he told them where to go and they went, and he did know about the blisters which formed whenever he ran in his boots without socks. He knew the mirror of his feet, etched into the soles of his shoes by wear and sweat. But he had never truly _considered_ his feet before.

Cradling the foot in both hands, Estel noticed the way his heel protruded back from his ankle like a boat not fully harbored. He poked the rosy skin and watched with glee as it turned white, then quickly pink again. His fingers moved across his sole and Estel giggled, then bit his lip and grinned. Thick calluses from running about formed mail across his feet. "I bet I could walk over glass or fire and never know it."

With a splash Estel's foot returned to the water. He hated having half-dry skin while the rest of him was wet. Taking a deep breath he plunged below the surface, then broke again into the air. Estel frowned. He was bored, but not ready to leave the bath yet. _Where is it?_ Annoyed, the boy looked about, then leaned over the edge of the tub. _Oh._ "Go away!" he shook the spider off of his toy boat and began to play, quite pleased to tug the bit of wood about and dictate its adventures.

"Estel, it's been over an hour!"

"And?" Estel called.

"Have you washed yet?"

Estel's mouth twisted into a grimace as he looked at his arms and legs, then shrugged. _Looks clean enough to me._ "Yes, Ada!" he lied. The ache had gone from his legs by the time Estel left the bath. He grinned. _And Elrohir said I might experience pain. Shows what he knows!_

**Fourth Age, Gondor**

"Forgive me for failing to see the association," Eldarion drawled. His eyes were tempered steel as he regarded his father with impatience and disbelief. With the arrogance of youth he discredited in advance most of what his father had to say, holding instead to anger. "Of course I understand who Elrohir is, having _read_ of the War." Another story Eldarion and his sister often begged their father to tell was that of the War of the Ring, but Elessar insisted the children were too young, and requested that the others with living memory not spin yarns. The children responded by reading every account they could find. "Nevertheless, this has little to do with you."

Empowered by the patience of age, Elessar replied calmly, "When I was two years old my father was slain by an arrow puncturing his skull through the eye. My mother took me to Imladris, where we dwelt, under the protection of Lord Elrond, who also became my foster father. The Enemy was looking for me, so Ada called me Estel."

Eldarion set his jaw, electing a minor battle. He wanted to hear the story continued, but refused to request it. Elessar, remembering his own childhood, understood without a word. "Elrohir decided in the early spring that I hadn't the riding skills of a--well, something rather crude he meant for me not to overhear. By mid-spring he had a plan, as was his wont: Elrohir developed a plan before mentioning it to anyone. Ada agreed that Elrohir might teach me to ride, but first I had to complete two maths levels."

This earned a suspicious look from Eldarion.

"Yes," Elessar answered, "I worked unwillingly. But by the start of summer, just as my allergies stopped choking me--" he added the embarrassing segment for Eldarion's benefit "--I finished the maths, spent four days nursing an astounding headache, then discovered the subtle pain of advanced riding."

**Third Age, Imladris**

Estel awoke to the sound of birds twittering. He sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the mattress, and rubbed his eyes. It was a truly glorious morning--but he was ten years old, and did not care for glorious mornings. All Estel could think of was riding again.

That is, until he stood up. His legs burned fiercely, and he fell back onto his bed. Trying again, Estel stood with his legs spaced widely, and at least was not in too much pain. He did fall over once trying to pull on his breeches, and with a loud thud crashed into the ground, thrashing about. This accomplished little, save tearing his breeches. Then he found another pair which he hoped was not too dirty and wriggled into them, still sitting on the ground.

The moment Elrond saw Estel, trying as he was to walk with his legs spread apart, he said to Elrohir, "He cannot ride today."

This bruised Estel's pride, and he insisted, "I can so ride today!"

Posting under the hot sun not an hour later, Estel very much regretted his protestation. His muscles were crying, and those tears dribbled through his pores as sweat. He wondered if he would ever be able to sit down again. "Estel, come here. At a walk, please!" Estel tugged lightly on the reins, and the horse beneath him slowed, then halted before Elrohir. "Do you want to call a halt to this? Say the word, Estel, and the pace will slow."

Estel shook his head. Yes, he was in pain. Yes, his arms and legs ached. Yes, he was horribly tired and uncomfortable. But he saw in Elrohir's eyes that to quit would mean disappointment, and he knew that to quit would prove Ada right. And Estel was too proud to prove Ada right. "I want to ride," he said, and realized that he did want to ride, in spite of the pain. He did wish to ride!

Elrohir smiled. "Then get out there," he said. "And check your diagonal!" he called to Estel's back.

That night, Estel's arms and legs trembled, and he lay in bed shaking. He awoke aching, his back and legs protesting every step he took. "Estel, do you wish to ride today?" Elrohir asked him.

"I wish to ride," Estel answered, and meant it.

Gradually, the pain disappeared. Estel hardly noticed: he hardly noticed the pain, and so hardly noticed its ebb, until the morning he awoke free of that trouble. Estel found also that he made fewer and fewer mistakes. Elrohir rarely reminded him to check his diagonal when posting, and Estel almost never missed the horse's rhythm--that mistake he had made only twice, learning quite quickly the jolt of pain suffered when a leather saddle collided with his bottom. He did have trouble sitting down that day!

When the leaves on the trees turned bright colors, Estel knew for a fact that he was much improved as a rider and, overall, as a person. He had learned patience from Elrohir's riding lessons, and he had learned the benefit of work and dedication.

**Fourth Age, Gondor**

Eldarion was curious: "What did your father say?" he asked. "And what about Elrohir? Did he cease teaching you after that summer?"

"Oh, indeed no! Elrohir was not finished torturing me." Elessar smiled so that Eldarion would know he was joking. "Every morning, Ada or Elrohir would ask, 'Do you wish to ride today, Estel?' And every morning I said yes, even in rain. Ada would watch sometimes, but I never could read his face. All through autumn I wondered what he thought, then in winter began to worry. I loved riding, but what did Ada think? It was ever a question in my mind, whether he felt I was growing up too quickly, if he wanted me to spend more time at books as he did and less time out of doors, riding. Or did he worry that Elrohir was pushing me too hard, that I was pushing myself too hard? I had my answer in March."

"The anniversary of your birth," Eldarion said, guessing in a tone of certainty.

"Absolutely."

"Well?" The boy would not later be keen to admit it, but he was eager to hear of Elrond's reaction to Estel's riding.

Elessar smiled at the memory. "He gave me a horse, and he said that he was proud of me." He did not add that the latter had been the best gift. Eldarion knew that well enough.

Choked, unable to ask truly _why_, why if Estel so longed for Elrond's approval he could not give his own son at least his time if not his pride, Eldarion took up another item from the jumble spread across his bed. "What about this one?" he asked.

To be continued

I'm in desperate need of a beta-reader. If anyone is willing to help me out, please let me know! I really would appreciate it. Also, I will try to have my next chapter posted much quicker. This one took a while because I was on holiday.


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